


What Lake Ontario Never Forgets

by schantzscribbles



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Awkward Romance, Beaches, Complicated Relationships, Drama & Romance, Fluff and Angst, Heartbreak, I Can't Write Physical Romance to Save My Life, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Is It Symbolism or Just Bullshit, Lake Ontario, Love, M/M, Roman Banks!Evan, Romanticism, Running Away, Symbolism, Treebros, cutting hair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 18:55:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25820182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schantzscribbles/pseuds/schantzscribbles
Summary: Some things you can't run away from.
Relationships: Evan Hansen/Connor Murphy
Comments: 11
Kudos: 24





	What Lake Ontario Never Forgets

“Meet me at the carousel. One a.m.”

Two fucking weeks of silence and that was the text that Connor sent. No responses to Evan’s anxious and worried messages. No further information or context clues to aid the command that Connor send. Just two sentences after two weeks.

One a.m. at the carousel.

The carousel on Ontario Beach.

At least, that’s where Evan was headed, whether Connor would be there or not.

His bike creaked under him with every frantic pedal, tired despite years of neglect. The chain seemed ready to snap. Spiderwebs decorated the spokes of the wheels. The blue and white streamers that once flew in the wind were worse off than Barbie’s hair after chewing gum and Play-Doh. Streamers… Exactly how old was this bike?

Mosquitos ate as his ankles. Dogs barked as he passed their backyards. The road and the sky mirrored each other: clear, black, and practically endless on a straight shot to the lake. The yellow highway lines seemed to point right to the moon. How long would it take until those lines actually took him there?

It wasn’t a quick ride to the carousel. It wasn’t an easy ride to the carousel. Evan’s knees hurt and his shorts bunched up in the back, all from a too small bike. He could barely catch his breath and wasn’t even sure if he breathed once during the whole ride. A few rough bumps made him wonder if his back tire went flat, but he didn’t care to check. From the moment he got Connor’s text, he had just 23 minutes to make it to the beach. Not nearly enough time, but Evan prided himself on being punctual. So, he made it with just three minutes to spare.

Three minutes to spare, and Connor wasn’t there.

He had three minutes. There was still time.

He sat down at a bench facing the unlit carousel. Music filled the muggy air. Not the music of instruments and people, but the music of nature, or what was left of it in a gentrified concrete jungle. Rochester was no NYC, but actual life was just as hard to find.

Evan’s heart pounded in his ears, a steady beat to complement the hum of mosquitos. Crickets chimed in with cheerful chirps, providing a broken and jointed melody. The water of the beach, though subdued with distance, could still be heard amongst it all. Leaves and branches rustled together. Night birds cooed here and there. Evan’s quick and tired breath brought it all together in his head. A symphony.

He longed to hear the orchestras of the wilderness, but the bands of Ontario Beach and Ellison Park were enough to satiate him for the time being.

It was now seven past one.

Connor was nowhere.

The horses of the carousel glared at Evan through the shadows of the streetlamps. He squints his eyes shut. If they can’t see him, he can’t see them.

He should just go home.

This was stupid.

He was stupid.

“I’m not stupid,” Evan whispered to himself. Lyrics for the composition. He opened his eyes.

Connor sat on a white horse, one knee pulled to his chest.

“Sorry I’m late,” Connor breathed, smoke dancing in the air. A lit cigarette dangled between his fingers.

“So, uh,” Evan mumbled, trying not to let anger into his voice, “where have you, um, been?”

“Busy,” Connor answered. “We’re high school graduates. Time for the real world, Evan.”

Seven feet, a red metal fence, and obvious omission separated them.

“W-why did you want me here?” Evan asked, pressing his hands together between his knees. If they would just stop fidgeting…

“I missed you.”

Evan bit his lip.

Connor took a long drag.

The smell made his nose itch,

“Did you bring a swimsuit?” Connor snuffed the cigarette on the horse, flicked it off into the night. He took a few strides forward, leaning over the fence. Four feet away from Evan.

“N-no.”

“Me either, but the water should be warm.”

He stepped over the fence with ease, stopping for just a moment. Evan tensed in his seat, waiting for Connor to approach him, but his attention is directed elsewhere as Connor headed toward the beach. He motioned for Evan to follow. Just as Evan responded to the text, he responded to the simple flick of Connor’s fingers.

Evan had never seen the beach and the pier so empty. All the stores were dark, the only lights being streetlamps and the reflections of the city on the water. Evan didn’t want to think about the people who lurked at these times, despite him being the one who lurked.

Connor beat him to the edge of the tide, sitting with his knees to his chest, his boots and socks already off. It was hard to see him in the dimness of the night, but Evan could make out the bags under his eyes, the hollowness of his cheeks. Not something out of the usual, but tonight they seemed more pronounced. Connor always carried a foreboding air about him, but the air was particularly thick that night.

Evan sat next to him, took off his shoes, then his socks, buried his toes in the sand. Evan’s feet practically blended in with the sand, darkened by night and water. Connor’s skin stuck out like a searchlight.

“I’ve always wanted to bring you here,” Connor smiled.

“We’re here now,” Evan offered. He held up a hand, low, just hovering above the ground. Fingers twitched for touch, but he didn’t dare move his arm away from his body. Connor didn’t even look his way, but instinctively took the hand, slowly, softly. Two hands intertwined, he buried them in the sand.

“Swim with me?” Connor asked, finally looking Evan in the eyes.

Icy blue with a speck of brown in the right eye.

Coffee brown, almost as black as pupils.

Evan responded by simply taking his shirt off, tossing the old tee shirt to the side. He unburied his feet, slid out of his pajama pants. On any other day, he would have taken the time to fold his clothes. Connor, dressed in an odd amalgamation of pajamas and his usual grunge wear, slipped out of his clothes with elegance. Evan couldn’t help but watch, holding his pajama pants to his chest like a shield. His eyes traveled down Connor.

First, a face he had memorized. A face he could draw with no effort, and Evan could barely draw a line.

Second, the sharpness of Connor’s collarbones. Bones so pronounces they seem both unbreakable and horribly brittle.

Third, a torso and arms, pale as spilled milk. Skinny and lean, with a surprisingly chest and biceps. Veins traveled down his arms like rivers. Scars littered certain spots. Some of them still red, still angry, still open. Evan moved on, tearing his eyes away from the sharp lines.

Fourth, blue Fruit of the Loom boxer briefs. One would assume a Murphy boy would be decked in Calvin’s. Nope. Just a cotton pair from a JCPenney bundle. Evan lingered.

Fifth, impossibly long, impossibly pale legs. Just as lean yet strong as his arms. Connor never seemed to find a pair of pants that would fit them just right.

Five sections of Connor that Evan knew, some more than others.

His cheeks burned.

Evan wished he were smaller.

Connor held out a hand.

“Let’s go.”

Evan took Connor’s hand, only to be yanked to his feet, then running into the freezing Great Lake. Both boys let out gasps and howls, the water splashing up against them. The night may have been hot and muggy, yet the lake still held onto the brisk New York winter. Just seconds into the water had them both covered in goosebumps, holding onto each other for warmth, yet they ran out further and further. Eventually their feet no longer touched the bottom, but they kept swimming.

“O-oh my G-god, this is fucking crazy,” Evan shivered, holding onto Connor. “I-it’s so c-cold!”

“Think about h-how I feel,” Connor stammered. “I’ve g-got no b-body fat.”

Evan laughed, jostling Connor around in the process. Connor flailed his arms, working to stay above water for the both of them.

“Evan! Evan!” he shouted through his own laughter. “You have to sw-swim, too!”

“O-oh.”

Evan let go of Connor, giving him some space. Their shivering subsided somewhat. They were still cold, still jittery, but neither could tell if their shaking was from the cold or the adrenaline. Then Evan’s face drops as he stared off into the distance.

“Connor, a boat!” Evan yelled, pointing past his shoulder.

“Fuck!” Connor shouted in response, turning back in fear. But just as he turned away, he felt a hand on his head dunking him underwater. He came up just seconds later, gasping and choking. Evan was absolutely roaring with laughter. Connor collected himself the best he could. “Oh, you fucking brat!”

He pounced on Evan, hands grabbing his shoulder and pushing him under, only to yank him back up to surface. Evan coughed and sputtered, but was still laughing amongst it all, catching Connor off guard once again and pulling him under. Thus, continued a war as the two boys struggled for air, yet were too blissed to care. Breathing wasn’t a top priority. They dunked and splashed and threw each other around. Lake Ontario was their’s.

Evan pushed Connor under the water once again, tiring but still enthusiastic. Connor reach up, dragged him underneath. They couldn’t see a thing underwater, yet they knew they were looking right at each other. Connor’s hands made their way to Evan’s face, thumbs brushing across his cheeks. Evan found Connor’s waist, one hand placed lightly just above his hip. The other played with his long hair, moving through the water like its own sentient creature.

Connor pulled Evan into him, lips coming together, tongues intertwining. The moment had to have lasted less than a few seconds as they rose above the water, only to part for air. They still held each other, catching their breaths. Evan kissed Connor again, Connor taking in his bottom lip, biting it lightly.

Not wanting to pull away, they awkwardly worked towards shore, the tide aiding them, until they were sprawled across the sand. Connor’s long legs were wrapped around Evan as he grinded against him, tangling his hands in his hair. Connor slipped a hand down Evan’s wet boxers, teasing.

Evan would’ve died if someone told him he’d sneak out at night to make out with Connor Murphy on the beach.

But just as things were about to go further, Connor stopped, put a hand to Evan’s lips. He looked away, face frozen in an unwarranted sadness. Finally, he untangled himself from Evan, crawling through the sand to their pile of clothes, collapsing next to them. Evan just sat in the oncoming tide. He splashed his face, pinched his nose, scrunched his eyes.

Eventually, he found himself standing above Connor, awkwardly adjusting his boxers. Connor just looked past him into the stars, sobbing silently to himself.

No words came to Evan.

The music returned, but Connor was the main performer.

Evan sat in the sand next to him, silent. He placed a hand on Connor’s chest, feeling for the gentle beating of his heart. He felt every choked sob and struggling breath. He just kept his palm right there, unmoving. Connor’s cries eventually calmed. He took Evan’s hand and with the other, dug into the pocket of his jacket, producing a pocketknife.

Evan pulled away. He knew what that knife had been used for.

Connor sat up.

Opened the knife.

And handed it to Evan.

“Cut off my hair,” he whispered.

“What?”

“Cut off my hair.”

Evan moved behind Connor, grabbing a small lock of hair, afraid of the damage he was about to cause. He pulled it taut, took a shaky breath, then sawed through it. Connor didn’t react to the loss of one lock, so Evan continued butchering the long brown curls. Lock my lock, the wet hair piled up next to Evan’s knee. Evan didn’t dare go too short, afraid to nick Connor in the process. Connor sat ossified.

Evan reached a point where he wouldn’t cut anymore. He couldn’t.

“You’re going to hate it,” he said softly, trying to force a laugh. Connor didn’t react. Evan kept trying. “I mean, I’ve never cut white hair, so you might look like a Facebook Mom… y’know, um, the, uh Karens…”

“I’m getting out of this town,” Connor said. “I’ll be gone before 6 am. Everything is packed into my car and it’s sitting in the parking lot, just ready to leave.”

Though Evan held the knife, Connor was the one that stabbed him.

“I needed to see you,” he continued. “I needed to see you one last time.”

“Bullshit,” Evan breathed.

“What?”

“Fucking bullshit,” Evan voice was rising by the syllable. “You can’t just, just… just take off!”

“I am!”

“N-no, that’s not fair!”

“Life’s not fair!”

“Fuck you!”

Suddenly Evan was thrown into the sand, Connor above him. His hand held down Evan’s wrists, his knees pressed into Evan’s thighs. The eyes of a wild, scared mutt glared down at Evan. It took every part of his being to not spit at Connor in that very moment.

“I can’t stay here, Evan,” Connor practically growled. “I will collapse into myself.”

“But you don’t have to take off in the middle of the fucking night!”

“Yes, I do!”

Once again, all the strength Connor possessed was sapped from him as he rolled off Evan to lay next to him. There were no tears that time. He was wrung dry.

“Maybe I’ll come back,” he sighed.

“Maybe.”

“But until then—”

“You’re just a milk carton kid…”

“Hah, they’ve haven’t done that since the 90s.”

Silence befell them again. The music returned, but this time a gentle ambience. Connor collected the tangled and wet clumps of hair, balling them up in this hands. Evan watched, feeling nothing.

Just.

Nothing.

Connor took his hand and led him into the waves once again. The two of them sat in the shallows, staring out into the black ink before them. Connor littered his hair among the waves, throwing them this way and that. He offered several locks to Evan, only to be refused.

“Lake Superior never gives up her dead,” Connor murmured. “Maybe Lake Ontario will hold onto pieces of the living.”

Evan wanted to punch him in the nose.

The hair was finally strewn about, Connor’s hands empty.

It would probably all end up on shore again anyway.

Evan watched a clump or two float by him.

“You could come with me, you know,” Connor offered, scooting closer to Evan. He took his hand, only to be met with a stubborn limpness. “And we can leave a note for your mom… it’s more than what I’m doing…”

Evan yanked his hand away, shoving himself to his feet. He started to storm off, fury absolutely blinding him, until he stopped and looked back.

Connor still sat among the waves, a pale white figure emerging from a black soup. Everything he had said, everything he had revealed had been selfish. He was going to run away without a single goodbye to anyone except Evan. He was just ready to take off, even suggesting Evan come with him. He sounded like every hometown runaway the two would joke about just weeks ago.

But Evan knew when he looked into those eyes and he heard the strain of his voice.

There was no enthusiasm.

There was no bliss.

No sense of adventure.

No feeling of greater self-worth.

Just a cry for help and the only plan to get unstuck.

Evan envied it.

He turned around and made his way back to Connor, sitting next to him once again. He still wanted to punch him in the nose, but he held back. Instead, he took Connor into his arms, held him close, resting a cheek on his head.

“I’ll see you later,” Evan whispered.


End file.
